The Last of the Foresters eBook

Surely, it would not be wrong for him to embrace this
chance of discovering Redbud’s residence—­a
chance which seemed to have been afforded him by some
unseen power. Why should he not keep the bird
until its wing was healed, and then observe the direction
of its flight? Why not thus find the abode of
one in whose society so much of his happiness consisted?
Was there any thing wrong in it—­would any
one blame him?

These were the questions which Verty asked himself,
standing in the October sunshine, and holding the
wounded pigeon to his breast. And the conclusion
was ere long reached. He decided, to his own perfect
satisfaction, that he had the full right to do as he
wished; and then he re-entered the office.

Mr. Roundjacket was busy at some more law papers,
and did not observe the object which he carried.
Verty sat down at his desk; betook himself to copying,
having rejected the sketch-ornamented sheet; and by
evening had done a very fair day’s work.

Then he put on his hat, placed the wounded pigeon
in his bosom, and, mounting his horse, set forward
toward the hills.

“In three days,” he said, “you will
be cured, pretty pigeon, and then I will let you go;
and it will be hard if I don’t follow your flight,
and find out where your mistress lives. Oh, me!
I must see Redbud—­I can’t tell why,
but I know I must see her!”

And Verty smiled, and went on with a lighter heart
than he had possessed for many a day.

CHAPTER IX.

HAWKING WITHOUT A HAWK.

Verty nursed the wounded pigeon with the tenderness
of a woman and the skill of a physician; so that on
the third day, as he had promised himself, the bird
was completely “restored to health.”
The wing had healed, the eyes grown bright again,
every movement of the graceful head and burnished
neck showed how impatient the air-sailer was to return
to his mistress and his home.

“Ma mere” said Verty, standing
at the door of the old Indian woman’s lodge,
“I think this pretty pigeon is well. Now
I shall carry it back, and I know I shall find Redbud.”

Verty, it will be seen, had concealed nothing from
his mother; indeed, he never concealed anything from
anybody. He had told her quite simply that he
wanted to see Redbud again; that they wouldn’t
tell him where she was; and that the pigeon would
enable him to find her. The old woman had smiled,
and muttered something, and that was all.

Verty now stood with one hand on Cloud’s mane,
in the early morning, ready to set forth.

The pigeon was perched upon his left hand, secured
to Verty’s arm by a ribbon tied around one of
its feet. This ribbon had been given him by Redbud.

In the other hand he carried his rifle, for some days
disused—­at his feet lay Longears and Wolf,
in vain pleading with down-cast eyes for permission
to accompany him.

“What a lovely morning!” said Verty, “and
look at Cloud, ma mere!—­he seems
to know it’s fall. Then there’s Wolf,
who can’t understand what I told him about Mr.
Rushton’s not liking so many dogs—­see
how sorry he is.”